Simple Meals, Simpler Living: What Bread and Butter Can Teach Us

It was just a can of lentil stew I had sitting around. Just a little butter on a slice of sourdough from a loaf I bought the other day, plus a few walnuts and a slice or two of fresh mozzarella to round things out. (No meat, because it's Friday –– a Catholic tradition I adopted years ago and held onto because it still serves me.)

It was the simplest possible lunch I could have made for myself on a weekday afternoon while trying to figure out what was next for my day –– nothing special. But I felt like making it into something more than just scraps and leftovers with a dash or two of intention. Not a gourmet meal by any means, but a deliberate one.

So, instead of absentmindedly cramming my food into my mouth while I continued to work, I lit a stick of pine incense, put on an old episode of Outlander, and took a moment to appreciate the grey overcast cloudiness outside while I ate instead. That choice changed everything and helped the rest of my afternoon play out better.

Simple Doesn't Mean Lesser (or Lazy)

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about simplicity, and not just when it comes to food. But also my creative work and how I structure my days. I've been considering all the different ways people try to keep up with a world that never stops demanding more, faster, louder. There’s this pressure, especially online, to make everything into a big production. To over-engineer the sacred, over-style the beautiful, and turn even lunch into content.

But sometimes, the most nourishing thing we can do is return to something unremarkable instead, allowing it to be enough. 

Simplicity is so often mistaken for lack. A meal that isn’t Instagram-worthy is proof we didn’t even try. A short blog post means we didn’t give a shit. A walk taken without tracking our steps must mean we weren’t committed to our health that day.

But real simplicity takes presence and restraint. It takes the ability to know when something is already enough.

I Didn't Steal This Joy, I Earned It

If there's one thing I really miss about childhood, it's how experiencing pure, unadulterated joy felt so effortless. I knew what it was without needing to name it. It also felt natural –– something I could count on defaulting to instead of having to fight for it.

I think I felt this most when my dad would take my brother and me to the beach for the afternoon. The ocean seemed like it went on forever, and I played for what felt like hours. I'd dig my toes into the wet sand, letting the cold water chase my feet and retreat again. I'd spend hours building woefully deficient sandcastles or searching tidepools for sea anemones and tiny crabs.

I wasn’t ever worried about what came next. I wasn’t afraid of anyone watching me. I wasn’t trying to be good. I wasn’t afraid of being bad. I just was, and it was amazing.

I’ve been chasing that feeling ever since, and I'd be lying if I said that hasn't shaped the arc of my life. That quiet, open sense of being safe inside my own body. Of being allowed to take up space, feel the sun on my skin, and just exist without shame, fear, or apology.

And lately, after many years and more healing than I ever thought I needed, I’ve recaptured the ability to feel this way again. Not every moment or about everything. Not even every day, but certainly often enough that I've noticed it. But here’s the strange thing. When it finally showed up after years of wishing and searching, I didn’t embrace it like the long-lost friend it was. 

I mistrusted it, completely and thoroughly.

There's a certain guilt that settles in when life is good

And by good, I definitely don't mean perfect or even relatively free of complications. (My childhood wasn't like that, and neither is my adult life.) I mean, you actually have enough space to catch your breath when you need to. Things are good enough that your nervous system doesn’t feel like it’s on high alert 24/7. You may even feel safe at times.

But if you're anything like me, that moment can be followed by something unexpected. A little voice that whispers, "Are you allowed to feel this good, though? Did you really earn this peace?"

It’s a sneaky kind of self-doubt –– that subtle fear that the other shoe is about to drop, you’ve cheated the system somehow, and now the peace cops are coming for you. But over time, I’ve started to realize something important. 

There's no rule that says you have to earn joy by suffering first. But if you have suffered? Then yes, you’ve earned every damn second of peace you find afterward.

So, if you're also going through a season where you've finally managed to find even a little bit of peace or joy in your life, but also struggle to embrace it? This is for you.

On Mindfulness and Stress Management

Zihuatanejo - Shannon Hilson via Midjourney

I've been trying something a little different the past couple of days with my self-care routine, just to see how things go. Seth's brother gifted him a one-year subscription to Calm perhaps a month ago or so, and he's really been liking it -- especially the soundscapes and ambient sounds. So I had him send me a pass for a free one-month trial to see if it's something I might like, too.

I've struggled with issues like anxiety, recurring depression, and frequent overstimulation (due to autism and neuroatypicality) my entire life. Over the years, I've discovered lots and lots of ways to cope with those things and keep them in check so that I can actually function on a semi-normal level. But sometimes I wonder how good a job I'm really doing on a deeper level.

I often think I've reached a place where I feel OK about something but still wind up showing clear signs that I'm actually still pretty anxious about it underneath. 

For example, I was supposed to appear for jury duty last Monday. I knew about it a couple of months in advance, so there was this long period over the holidays that felt like some sort of doomsday countdown. And that wasn't too big a problem until I reached the point where it was maybe a couple of weeks away, then a week, and then just a couple of days.

I wasn't incapacitated by anxiety or anything, as I was definitely living my life and going about my business in every way that really mattered. And for that reason, I told myself, "Oh, I've got this totally under control and feel fine about it." But I realized that probably hadn't been the case when I checked in on the county court site the Friday before my Monday summons date to double-check the time.